


the boy that you loved is the man that you fear

by eyehategod



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: 90's Music, Bad Writing, Heavy Angst, I Don't Even Know, Love at First Sight, M/M, People Change People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 13:11:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20706560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyehategod/pseuds/eyehategod
Summary: Some Manznor angst, pretty bad.





	the boy that you loved is the man that you fear

Their first kiss happened in 1992. Brian hadn’t been much older than twenty, and he had looked up to Trent more than anyone. Trent could remember the dorky, bright-eyed kid twirling a strand of hair between his fingers nervously, giggling and blushing, worshipping the ground he walked on. Trent had been flattered and, okay, also a little bit drunk, and so he had planted a soft, gentle kiss on the younger man’s lips. The small noise Brian had made, Trent remembered thinking, had sounded just like a kitten.

Their second kiss was in 1994. It had been two years since Brian and Trent had talked, and after running into him in a goth club’s gross bathroom, Trent had been a bit surprised at how much the boy had changed in such a short period of time. Now, remembering that thought occurring to him made Trent smile bitterly. Oh, just wait a few more years, he desperately wanted to tell his naïve past self. Brian had still been very innocent and young the second time, just a tiny bit more confident in a way no one besides Trent would have noticed. He remembered being genuinely excited when Brian had smiled shyly at the floor, raised his right eyebrow (the one that he hadn’t shaved off during the past two years) a bit, and told Trent about his band. He was absolutely fucking precious. “Send me your demo tape.”, Trent had told him through an excited smile before gently taking hold of the boy’s shoulders and pressing their lips together gently, both of them just barely being able to hear Ministry’s song Stigmata being played in the main part of the shitty club. Trent saw fireworks that night in that filthy bathroom, and he wanted to talk to Brian a lot more, get his number, hear everything about him, and then hopefully begin the process of growing old together with him, but Robin was ready to go, and he never liked pissing off Robin, so he left the club. 

The third kiss was when things really started to unravel, and it wasn’t even really a kiss, just a half-sarcastic kissy noise over the phone. Trent got a call on a freezing cold January night in 1996, and he answered it while half-asleep and a little drunk. A masculine, mature-sounding voice Trent didn’t recognize answered, and Trent had to admit that the voice was really fucking sexy. “Hello, is this Trent Reznor?”, the voice drawled. Trent could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Uh, yes?”, he answered. The person on the other end of the phone smacked his lips. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at a club one time a few years back. Name’s Brian.”, he purred. Trent’s heart jumped up into his throat. He did know a lot of guys named Brian, and it probably wasn’t the one he was embarrassingly still stuck on a few years after they’d briefly talked. “Uh, okay. I have to go.”, he blushed. “Brian” blew a kiss into the phone before hanging it up. Trent sat there holding the phone to his ear and listening to the dial tone with tears inexplicably filling his eyes for a solid five minutes after the mysterious caller had hung up. 

Trent was sat in front of the television later that year, mindlessly watching MTV, when he saw a music video he didn’t know. Marilyn Manson, the band was called, and Trent had never heard of it. At least he didn’t think so, but the band’s name was somehow vaguely familiar to him. Shrugging that off, he read the song title. Sweet Dreams, it was called. The band’s lead singer, presumably Marilyn Manson, was Satan incarnate. And fuck, was he hot. Eyeshadow was smeared down his pale, sickly-looking face, and his arms were covered with all sorts of strange tattoos. An odd spiderweb of scars was stretched out over his chest, long black hair that cascaded down beautifully blocking some of it. But wait a minute. When Trent looked a bit closer at the man’s big, crooked nose and sweet brown eyes, his stomach turned. Holy shit. That was Brian Warner.

Two more years passed, with Trent secretly being very invested in every new release from Marilyn Manson. Every time another alternative music magazine came out with a new issue, he would stand in the bookstore and nonchalantly scan it, just to make sure his Brian wasn’t in there. Then, their paths crossed again at an awards show. Brian’s hair was shoulder-length and dyed bright red now, and he wore a sparkly red leotard that David Bowie would have envied. Trent waved at him, but he just rolled his eyes and kept walking.


End file.
